"Fuck." Grayson Price's voice was a harsh groan. He was facing the window with its flimsy shade pulled down against the dark of evening. His pants were down around his ankles, and his blue Egyptian cotton shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the golden walnut of his chest. The silk tie had been torn away and tossed over his desk. His legs were braced apart, and his ass tingled from the last tap of the big heavy hand.
He'd stopped denying that he enjoyed the feel of a certain thick cock about the same time he'd stopped trying to justify why this was happening. He'd just made a pact with himself that this wasn't going to happen again because he wasn't gay...
And he'd meant it when he made the promise before. Hell, he'd even told himself it was unnatural for a man to be this attracted to another man. He'd drowned himself in the Christian dogma that preached such a thing to be wrong. He'd told himself he was going to burn in hell for it. So, why couldn't he stop?
Why did he enjoy being stretched over his desk with his bare ass up? Why did being dominated by a man make him so hard?
Grayson groaned as he felt the retreat of the thick, rigid length. The once-hidden nerves in that tight channel seemed ultrasensitive and sent pulses of heated pleasure through him. His ass fairly tingled with it. His cock head pulsed and throbbed from it. His legs were almost weak from it. He gripped the edge of the desk for extra support.
"Ahh," he groaned. The bite of the thrust was almost painful, but he liked that edge of pain. It took him higher and made the sex all the more enjoyable. Damn, that was sick wasn't it? That he liked that edge of pain, that hint of dominance when he'd never been that way with a woman.
"Your tight ass is so good, Gray," his lover said, groaning roughly. "So fucking tight, you fit my dick like a wet dream." A heavy hand came down on his left buttock.
"Yes." He knew his lover was holding back, fighting to maintain control. He always did. He pushed his hips back as his lover thrust into him again. He wanted to make him lose that control. Dreamed of it.
He reached back to stroke a hand over the back of his lover's neck. Grayson let his fingers play in the edges of his thick, curly, black hair. His nails did that thing that still scared him a little. They elongated and sank into the tough skin. A jolt of sensual energy washed over him, and he groaned hard as he pushed his back into his lover's chest. His lover's shirt was unbuttoned revealing that hard, rich caramel chest that was devoid of hair.
He appreciated skin on skin, especially this man's skin, but being half-naked was sexy, a turn-on.
He turned his head and breathed in the subtle hint of cinnamon that was ever present when they had sex. The cinnamon was mingled with the faint tang of sweat and sex for an intoxicating cologne that pushed his desire higher. His grandmother would think him a sick bastard for this. His grandfather would likely disown him if he found out.
His lover's head dipped, and he brushed his jaw before Grayson turned his head to take the kiss. The man was a good kisser. His kisses knocked his socks off and left him speechless.
His lover moved his hand to Grayson's balls, and a choked sound escaped him as the finger vibrator throbbed against his balls. The heat sparked harder in him, brighter. The hunger hitched higher, making him just want to come from the spiraling-out-of-control sensation alone.
"Damn," Grayson groaned. "You're so damned good." He'd never had sex like this. So hot and wild. So good.
He'd never had sex with a man until two weeks ago, and now he was bottoming like a pro. Eager for the shuttling inside his ass, the burning bite, and that pleasant ache that lingered afterward.
His lover nuzzled his neck. "Like having a vibrator used on your balls, baby?"
"I like it so much, I might let you do it again," he bantered back, his breathing harsh. And he did love it although he'd never thought of using one before on a woman or himself. Grayson put both hands back on the desk and groaned as his lover began to ride him in earnest now.
The hard strokes sent flares of pleasure rippling across the hidden nerve endings going straight to his cock, tightening his balls. His head dropped forward with the force of his pleasure and the hunger eating through him. The faint sweetness of cinnamon filled his mouth, ripping through his system. That was the incubus aphrodisiac begging to be shared. It would increase his lover's pleasure as well as his own. He stroked one hand up to the back of his lover's neck. Nails elongated as the need to feed on the sexual energy overcame him.
His hand dropped to his cock and began to fist it as his balls grew tighter. He was so close. His lover's teeth nipped at the back of his neck, sending a caress of air over his skin "Let me," he urged softly, and Grayson dropped his hand. The thumb stroking over the sensitive tip had Grayson pushing his nails deeper into his lover's neck. God, he loved the feel of that slightly callused thumb pad stroking him.
More pleasure slithered through him, making him groan and rub against his lover. He retracted his nails and put his hand on his lover's. He loved touching his skin though he rarely allowed himself to indulge. If he didn't touch, if he didn't open himself to the sensations, he didn't shove his lover into that haze of wanton abandon created by the incubus aphrodisiac. With this man he couldn't help himself. He just got lost in the pleasure and in the sensations. It drove away the loneliness, the void he had been pretending didn't exist in his life.
"Oh fuck," he breathed roughly as his lover pumped him. He liked the grip tight, but not too tight.
"Like having me inside you, don't you?" His lover's voice was rough with desire, and Grayson liked the sound of it. It raked over his skin and teased his cock head. He opened his mouth to respond, but he lost his breath. The twist of hips and the thrust of cock sent pleasure tearing through his balls, making his hips buck as the orgasm ripped through him, sent him up in flames.
The pleasure was so blinding that he shot his load on his lover's hand as well as the desk.
His lover gripped his hips and fucked him harder, deep. It burned so good. Grayson felt his lover jerk and heard his harsh groan, felt a breeze over his skin. Grayson trembled beneath him as the orgasm held him in its tight grip.
"What the hell are you doing to me?" Grayson asked softly. His breathing was harsh, his lover was still inside him, still hard, and he knew it wasn't over. His ass tingled in anticipation.
* * * *
Grayson raked his fingers through his hair five minutes later as he looked out into the darkness after a brief look to the couch. His lover was sprawled on the cushions of the couch in his office, legs spread, pants still undone, and zipper down, but that thick, long cock had been tucked inside. The buttons of his shirt were still open, revealing the hairless caramel skin of his broad chest. There was something about the lack of hair near his cock that got him hard as hell.
Grayson was almost ashamed of his thoughts and of the hunger elicited from him every time he looked at him or thought about him. He wasn't gay, though to be honest, he'd become bi-curious after receiving a book he hadn't ordered. A paranormal gay romance. He'd read a few pages before sending it back. Then, too curious, he bought a copy and found himself more aroused and more interested than he knew it was safe to be. Not because his family was homophobic but because they considered gay males weak. And he didn't want to be seen as weak by the dominant males of his family line. He wanted their respect for the man that he was.
"What's the matter, baby?" his lover asked. "You're real quiet tonight."
Grayson threw a look to Raphael Windstorm. The sliver of new moonlight coming in from the window washed over him from the window, illuminating the hard planes of his beautiful body which was perfectly muscled and lean from head to toe. His eyes lingered on the tattoo over his right pec which was noticeable again tonight. The lines were precise, forming what looked like a cyclone on a weather map.
His gaze dropped to the cut abs before flowing down to the bulge in the jeans he'd merely yanked open for sex. His mouth watered. The man was hung, and he sported a curious cock ring. It was an amber knot just beneath the crown. He'd heard about the witch breed that sported the anomaly, but the reality was so much better than the speculation.
His ass clenched at the memory of how that cock ring rasped just right in his ass, the nerves it sensitized and awakened. But he had to end it. However, the man's professional services were needed. Of course, he could hope the man didn't like to mix business and pleasure and dumped him to take his case.
He squeezed his eyes closed tightly, feeling a light stroke over his bare back. The energy snaked over his neck and around his throat in a sensual caress. His heartbeat quickened and, his skin heated. His dick got harder. He loved the caress of the man's energy against his skin though he didn't understand how he did it. He knew it was part of the anomaly that was the Elemental breed. Very little was known about the breed in the Wiccan world except that they were a mutation like himself, one considered evil by the Wiccans.
At least that's what the books he'd found weeks ago, when he began renovating his cabin, stated. The books had belonged to Celeste Santos, the woman that was supposed to be his mother according to a note he'd received, as well as the birth certificate he'd found at the cabin.
Grayson turned and leaned against the wall, refusing to go to him, which was all he wanted to do. Rafe had come into his lonely life and brought warmth and care. He'd awakened the dormant part of Grayson that had just been waiting to live. He'd come to trust this man more than he should, but he knew Rafe was the only person he could trust with what was on his mind.
"You said you were in security," Grayson began. "What kind of security?" This was the first time he'd asked. He'd refused to ask, to allow himself to become too interested or involved in the man's life. He was afraid that if he did, this would become real. Right now, he was doing little more than living out some fantasy from one of those paranormal romance novels he'd read.
"What do you need?" he retorted coolly, drawing his brow into a frown. He didn't like that cerebral tone. It was too distant. Unemotional.
"I, uh - someone's sent me some papers saying my grandmother's hotel belongs to me and that it came with a large inheritance that's been stolen from me," Grayson began. "The hotel and the money were left to me by my mother."
"Tell me what I don't know about your parents."
Grayson hadn't told him much about his family when they first met because they were a wealthy set with ties to powerful political figures both in the witch and mortal worlds. He'd feared the man could find out and blackmail him or his family. The last thing he'd wanted was to have his family affected by his bad judgment. Besides, the more the man knew about him, the more power he had to hurt him. His family had taught him that. While he still feared being hurt, he wasn't concerned that Rafe would go after his family in any way.
"According to the papers, my parents were divorced when I was five days old, but my father sought custody of me when I was three." He had very vague memories of a beautiful, dark-haired woman with aquamarine eyes and golden skin like his own.
"I didn't know her," he said quietly. "I found my birth certificate and some baby pictures of me with her in a book."
"The cabin in the smaller bedroom when I started the renovations." His grandmother had been against his request to take the cabin, which was located on an inlet on the sprawling grounds of the hotel. She'd told him it would be better if he stayed in the hotel since she was going to make him a manager.
He'd refused. He wanted his space. He wanted his independence from her and the family. She was kinder and more affectionate, but he wanted to stretch his wings and couldn't do that with someone looking over his shoulder all the time. After some quiet arguments, she'd relented, albeit grudgingly.
Grayson suspected she was having second thoughts. Since he'd begun renovating his cabin, he'd been pressing for renovations of all the cabins since they had fallen into such disrepair. They could no longer be opened. They were extremely popular fishing and camping spots during the warmer months. Every day they were closed was a loss of revenue, which she no longer seemed to care about.
"Your birth mother is dead?"
"That's what I've been told, and there was also a copy of her will. I need to have it authenticated."
"What has your grandmother said about this information?"
"I haven't shown her," he admitted with a shrug. He loved his grandmother, but if this was his hotel, it was his chance at independence that neither she nor his father could take from him. And he was willing to go for it at the risk of hurting her feelings. He believed she'd get over it, especially since he'd let her stay on.
"I haven't known what to say." Pain ranged through him as he thought about his childhood. His father had never cared much about him. He was nothing more than a disappointment next to his two younger siblings.
"What about your father and stepmother?" Rafe asked gently. "They would be a good source of information. Your best."
He shook his head. "I can't." Grayson sighed harshly. The truth was, neither his father nor his stepmother had ever cared much for him. They had both tried to kill him when he was younger.
His father was a doctor, and his stepmother was a snob who spent her days doing charity work and trying to figure out how to make other women's lives hell. They both hungered for more power and more money to lord over their circle of friends. If he told his father about the hotel, he would just try to take it. The man and his wife seemed to enjoy hurting him and taking as much from him as they could then making him beg to get it back.
His refusal to beg as much in the last few years seemed to have pissed his father off enough that he took even more pleasure in hurting and humiliating him when he had the chance.
"Show me what you have, and tell me what you want."
* * * *
Four weeks later...
Grayson got to his feet after reading the message on his computer. Rafe had checked out Celeste Santos and learned she was indeed Grayson's birth mother. She'd been the daughter of a wealthy Italian hotelier who'd carried the demonic gene he'd inherited. She'd owned the hotel and had left it, as well as ten million dollars, to him.
And yesterday Grayson told his grandmother he was taking over the hotel. His grandmother, who had been his constant support, had turned bitterly cold. He hadn't expected her to be this way. She knew how important having his independence was to him, and this hotel, as he'd explained to her, was his chance to escape the stifling control the family had on him.
Grayson paced to the beeping fax machine in the corner of his spacious office. It was on the first floor and opened out onto a private gallery with a stone floor and plenty of lush greenery and colorful flowers. The gallery was screened and overlooked the hotel's rolling lawn and the garden room which he'd recently designed and built, though his grandmother had initially refused to allow him the funds. He'd managed to convince her it would pay for itself.
He looked at the page he'd pulled from the fax. He had no idea who was sending him the bits of information, but he didn't really want to see anymore. The knowledge had brought out a side of his grandmother that caused him to doubt she'd ever cared for him at all.
I see you've had some work done on the hotel. The money used to pay for it was part of your inheritance. Ask them about your money. All ten million dollars of it is gone.
Grayson frowned at the message and read it again. Anger rumbled around inside him even as he tried to calm himself and consider what a trick this could all be. He'd grown up an outcast in his own family. It would be so like them to defraud him of what was his. However, he would have expected more from his grandmother.
"Price." The voice was almost a whisper.
He frowned. The security treated him with a complete lack of respect, but he doubted they'd be calling him. He was alone in this part of the hotel. He went to the door and found the hall empty.
He gasped at the prick to the back of his neck. Grayson tried to turn and was hit. He staggered and fell to his knees. A weak cry escaped him as something hot and hard pierced his side. Grayson fell onto his stomach.
A chill crept over his skin as he went colder than usual inside. He was light-headed. The tug of something inside him made him want to gag.
Someone threw something on him, and it burned like acid. His attention wavered from the shield he was bringing up. The temperature dropped rapidly in the hall as his eyes shifted from calm aquamarine to an inhospitable pale-blue with flecks of white where the irises used to be. A woman with a black cap covering her head, a long angry scar across her cheek, and a patch over her right eye aimed a gun at him.
Grayson stared horrified at her and extended his hand. His father had said enough times that he was hopeless at marshaling his power, but his father had no idea what the boy he'd terrorized had become. Hydrokinetic energy flared to life on his palm, a small, rounded grayish spark that quickly flared to one of darker blue as it left his palm. The small flare became a ball of icy water that flared black as it hurdled toward its target.
The woman caused the dark waters to break apart, but when they did, ice chips pelted her shoulder. She screamed in rage and sent a spell hurtling at him. Her energy flamed gray, and Grayson jerked to one side to avoid it, only to see from the corner of his eye a snaking rope of energy coming at him. It curled around his throat like a whip and stung. Tacks seemed to stab at his throat.
Grayson took a hit from behind and went down to his knees hard. The energy around his neck tightened.
"Don't fool around," the woman said coldly. Her voice was so familiar that he craned his neck and was backhanded for the effort. He screamed as she ripped into his mind. Blood vessels burst at the force of her attack, causing his nose to bleed. "What did you think, you'd actually have this hotel? This is ours, mongrel, and it's time you vacated the premises." She drove a knife into his stomach. "Die."
Grayson gasped as the silver penetrated his stomach. The pain was excruciating. He was doused with water, and he screamed. He jerked in her hold. The demon energy inside writhed in pain. His skin was burning, and his soul was twisting inside him.
"Funny how demon-blood reacts to holy water."
Grayson screamed in pain as the demon part of him wanted to claw right out of his mind. He was turned onto his back, and the woman stood over him with a vial in one hand and a knife in the other. She bent and brought the knife down again.
"Good-bye, mongrel," she said. "Burn it down."
Kiss of Air is available at bookstrand.com/kiss-of-air